


Advent-ures in Christmasing

by edie4711



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Canon Compliant, Canon Queer Relationship, Christmas Fluff, First Christmas, Fluff, Fun-sized chapters, Itty bitty chapters, M/M, Ted Mullens writes my titles I'm so sorry, the chapters are seriously so teeny, they're stocking stuffers, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28313307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edie4711/pseuds/edie4711
Summary: It was just little things, really, that gave David the idea.  Well,mostlylittle things; there was that one big thing.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer & David Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 27
Kudos: 54





	1. One

“Can I ask you a question?”

They were lying side by side, sweaty and spent, in Patrick’s flowered bed in the room he was renting from Ray, after an extended and exceedingly satisfying physical celebration of their reunion. Patrick traced his forefinger along David’s jaw. 

“You can ask me anything, David.”

David caught Patrick’s hand and brought it to his lips.

“What is an ‘Advent calendar’?”

Patrick blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You said earlier that you didn’t mean for all the gifts you sent me to be ‘an Advent calendar of apologies.’”

“I…”

“And it _wasn’t_...that,” David rushed on. “I mean, I didn’t want you to think that I thought it _was_ that? But now I’m thinking I am not sure what that exactly _is_ , even though _whatever_ it is, that’s definitely _not_ what I thought.”

“David,” Patrick breathed, trying to hide a smile. “David, David.” 

“You’re laughing at me.” David frowned.

“No, no, I would never--David, I would never, ever laugh at you.”

“You laugh at me _all the time_.”

“David. I’m never--you have no idea how much I am not laughing at you right now. You make me--you’re--I’m just happy, that’s all.”

“Well.” Mollified, David nuzzled Patrick’s fingers. “So, what is it?”

“An Advent calendar? It’s like a countdown to Christmas. I used to get one every year when I was a kid. It’s like a regular calendar, except it has twenty-four little doors, and starting December first, you open one door each day, and the last one is Christmas Eve. There’s a picture or something, some kind of surprise, behind every door.”

“Oh,” David said. “That sounds nice.” 

“I remember one year my mom got me one that had chocolates inside. So every day for twenty-four days, I opened a door and got a piece of chocolate.”

“ _Really_ ,” David murmured, closing his lips briefly around Patrick’s fingers before continuing. “And you got one of these...Advent calendars, every year?”

“Yep,” Patrick said. A fond, faraway expression settled on his face. “I remember my cousins and I used to get a little competitive about who had the best one, until my mom finally started making her sisters get us all the same calendars, so we wouldn’t get jealous of each other. I can’t believe you’ve never heard of them.”

“My dad is Jewish,” David reminded him. “And also, have you met my mother?”

“Point taken.”

David traced the lines in Patrick’s palm with his fingertips. He folded each of Patrick’s fingers in, one by one, toward the heart line; he cupped Patrick’s knuckles with his hand, then used his thumb to stretch Patrick’s fingers out flat again, caressing Patrick’s hand with his own in soft, leisurely strokes. Finally, keeping his gaze focused on their intertwined hands, he spoke.

“It wasn’t about the gifts.”

Patrick’s eyes had fallen closed, and his breathing was slow and even. 

“Mmm. What wasn’t.” 

“You didn’t give up,” said David in a low voice. “You didn’t give up on me.”

Patrick opened his eyes. “David. I told you, I was desperate. I would have done anything to get you to talk to me. That week we spent apart was…” He shook his head. “I think that was the worst week of my life.”

David kissed Patrick’s palm; then, steeling himself, he looked into Patrick’s eyes. “I meant what I said. I’ve never been in this situation before.”

“David--”

“Just...just shush for a sec.”

Patrick closed his mouth.

“Every time something arrived at the motel, I couldn’t...I couldn’t believe you would do that, just keep texting me, and sending me things, even though I wasn’t ready to talk to you yet. I thought you would just...give up. Walk away. But you didn’t.” David drew a deep, ragged breath, then looked away. “You’re the only person who’s ever fought for me.” 

“I wasn’t going to give up,” Patrick said in a quiet but firm voice. “I’m still not.”

“Well, that’s good, then,” whispered David. “Because I’m not, either.”

Patrick lifted his arm. 

“Come here,” Patrick said, and David allowed himself to be drawn into Patrick’s embrace, laying his cheek against Patrick’s chest, and listening to the strong and steady beat of Patrick’s heart.


	2. Two

“I _told_ you, they’re not here yet!” David snapped into the phone, pacing back and forth behind the counter. 

“Son, we need them this week,” his father said, slowly and clearly, as if speaking to a child, which David was not. “We needed them _last_ week. How are you supposed to run a successful business when you don’t meet your obligations?”

“Well, what do you expect me to _do?_ I’ve already called her _three times!_ ” David made a _the fuck!_ gesture with his free hand; in his peripheral vision, he saw Patrick glance up from restocking the hand-carved wooden kitchen utensils.

“David. If you want your business to succeed, you have to meet your customers’ deadlines. The roll--”

David cut him off. “I will call you _when_ they get here, which will _not_ be before they arrive. Thank you so much!” He put the handset extra-firmly back in its cradle. “ _Fuck!_ ” 

“What’s going on?” Patrick approached the counter tentatively, as though he expected David to explode, or something. “Who was that?”

“My _dad_ ,” huffed David. “He’s driving me crazy about the products he ordered for the motel; that motel has _literally_ been there for fifty years, what is the big rush? Does he expect me to _grow_ the mouthwash? From _seed?_ ”

Patrick was opening his mouth to respond when the store phone rang. David picked it up.

“ _What?!_ ” he barked into the receiver.

“David? Is that you?”

“...Oh.” David felt instantly deflated. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Brewer.” 

“Is everything all right?” 

“Everything is fine, thank you for asking. We’ve just had a lot of...prank callers, recently.” 

“Oh,” Mrs. Brewer said. “Are you doing all right? How’s the store?”

“Thriving,” David replied. “Um, did you want to talk to Patrick? He’s right here.”

“I guess,” said Mrs. Brewer, with a twinkle in her voice. “If I must. Good to talk to you, David.”

“You too, Mrs. Brewer.” He passed the phone to Patrick. “It’s your mom. Tell your dad I said hi,” he added, a little shyly, then grabbed the little broom from the stockroom and hurried out to sweep the front steps, so Patrick could have privacy for his phone call. 

When he returned, Patrick was resting his elbows on the counter, gazing at nothing, a wooden spatula dangling forgotten in his hand.

“What’s wrong?” David came behind the counter to rub Patrick’s shoulders.

“Oh. Nothing,” Patrick said, rather cheerfully. “My parents are going to spend Christmas in Québec this year. Apparently their contractor said he won’t be done with their kitchen renovation till after the holidays, so they’re going to the German Christmas Market and doing the walking tour. My mom said she can’t imagine hosting Christmas at their house without a kitchen, and she’s always wanted to see the Notre-Dame-des-Victoires Church decorated for the holidays, so.”

“Oh,” said David. “Will you...are you okay with this? Development?”

“Trust me, I wasn’t looking forward to driving six hours to Elk Lake this year.” He turned and slid his hands around David’s waist. “I’d rather be here with you, anyway. It’s our first Christmas together. And I’m excited to see how much business we do at the store.”

“Oh,” David said again. He felt underprepared; he had never had an “our first Christmas together” with anyone. David’s previous Christmases ran largely to being coerced to perform musical numbers with his mother, hair akimbo in front of legions of guests, before slipping out the back door of the Rose family home to jet off with loose acquaintances-du-jour to a warmer climate. That was when it was a good Christmas. He didn’t want to think about the bad Christmases.

Then Patrick was kissing him, and he forgot about everything.


	3. Three

It was just little things, really, that gave David the idea. Well, _mostly_ little things; there was that one big thing.

First, Dad gave him that rash; well, technically, it was Dad’s hamfisted attempt at floral arranging that gave David the rash, courtesy of a bouquet of poison oak Johnny had inexplicably picked from among the weeds behind the motel and left on the table in the motel room David shared with his sister. 

He’d been nearly apoplectic at the thought of having to stand in the store, day after day, flooded with natural light, trying to sell skincare products to customers while half his face was covered in what was basically leprosy. It was more than incorrect; it was closer to _retail suicide_ , but before he’d even had a chance to splutter all of this to Patrick, Stevie had knocked on David’s door, a gift bag in her free hand.

David opened the door a crack. “What’s this?”

“You can open the door, David, I’ve already seen your face,” Stevie said, pushing the door open. She dropped the gift bag on David’s bed and scratched at her arms.

“Ugh, will you stop _scratching_ ,” David groaned. “Here, put this on it.” He tossed her a jar of salve. “If you keep scratching at it, it will spread the poison and make it worse.”

“Thanks,” Stevie said, unscrewing the jar gratefully. “Um, I come bearing gifts.”

“I can see that,” David retorted, eyeing the bag. “What is..what’s…”

“It’s from Patrick,” Stevie told him. “He stopped by the motel lobby earlier, I guess on his way back from his seminar. He said to call him after you open--David?”

David wasn’t listening, having already dived elbow-deep into the gift bag. He withdrew first a pink bottle of calamine lotion. “Relieves the itching, pain, and discomfort of minor skin irritations, such as those caused by poison ivy, poison oak, and poison sumac,” he read aloud, then opened the bottle and sniffed. “Well, it’s inoffensive, at least. How thoughtful.”

“What else is in there?” Stevie craned her neck around David to see the contents of the bag.

“You didn’t look?”

“Did you _want_ me to look?”

David turned the bag upside-down, gave it a shake, and a pile of videotapes fell out onto the duvet.

“Oh, my God, Stevie, it’s all five seasons of _Ripper Street_.” He hugged the empty bag to his chest.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s a British crime drama set in Whitechapel, in the East End of London, at the end of the 19th century, and...”

“Say no more,” said Stevie, putting a hand up. “Are you going to read the note?”

David picked up the sheet of folded graph paper that had fluttered to the bed along with the tapes. He unfolded it and read it to himself, a slow smile spreading across his face. “He says I should take as much time off as I need to recover from my ‘situation’, and the tapes are to keep me occupied while I convalesce.”

“That’s nice of him,” Stevie commented. “You should definitely thank him in person.”

David consulted the ceiling before replying.

“Well,” he said haltingly, “seeing as how he wasn’t driven screaming into the night by my...impromptu solo dance party last month, I think he can probably handle a little poison oak.”

“That’s the spirit,” Stevie said, rubbing her forearms together. “I’m going to go back to work now. You should call Patrick.” 

“What did I _just_ tell you about scratching,” David scolded. “And yes, I will call him. If nothing else, I can ask him to help me apply this pink stuff.”


	4. Four

It was about a week later when David, fully healed, met Patrick for an early breakfast at the cafe before heading to the store to work on their holiday display plan and finalize a few seasonal orders. David was just finishing up Patrick’s waffle when Bob Currie jogged up to the table.

“Hi, boys,” Bob greeted them. “Sorry to interrupt, but you looked like you were done, so.”

David nudged Patrick under the table with his foot and continued chewing.

“Hi, Bob,” Patrick said cheerfully. “What’s up?”

“Gwen wanted me to ask if you boys are going to have any of those pooping reindeer at the store for Christmas.”

David swallowed. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” Bob explained,” those pooping reindeer. You push on ‘em and they poop, like, jellybeans, or Raisinets. Gwen always gets ‘em for the kids at the church potluck. And since Christmas World is all the way in Elmdale now, being that your store is where Christmas World was supposed to be...” Bob trailed off, pointedly.

Patrick smiled. “Tell Gwen we’ll see what we can do.”

David plastered a wide, toothy smile on his face; under the table, he nudged Patrick a little more firmly with his foot.

“So, uh, what are you boys doing for Christmas? Patrick, you going home, or are you staying here?”

“I am home, Bob,” Patrick said. “And no, I’m not going to my parents’ house this year. David and I are pretty excited about our first Christmas at the store.” He smiled affectionately at David.

“Good to know,” said Bob. “We’re going to need some help putting up the Christmas tree in front of Town Hall, so I’m looking to recruit some strong backs.”

“I’m sitting _right here_ ,” huffed David through his fake grin.

Bob kept his eyes on Patrick. “Think you can help us?”

“Sure, Bob. I’ll be around, just let me know when.”

“Will do,” Bob said, and with that, he jogged away.

“Why does he always walk like that?” David whispered. “Also, who the fuck is Gwen? ...Patrick?”

“Huh?” Patrick appeared to shake himself out of some reverie. “What about Gwen?”

“Is everything okay?” David tried to keep his eyebrows very still.

“Oh, yeah,” Patrick said, taking David’s hand. “At least it’s okay for now. Not sure how it’s going to be after our store starts stocking pooping reindeer, though.”

“Like _that’s_ ever going to happen,” David replied, spearing a strip of bacon from Patrick’s plate.


	5. Five

By mid-November, the store was a bustling hub of activity. They’d needed to replace the register tape four times in a single month, a new record for the store, and they’d doubled the number of vendor pickups per week to keep up with the demand for new inventory.

“I think we should look into hiring a courier service,” David complained one night as they leaned into each other on Ray’s couch, exhaustedly half-watching _Surviving Christmas_. “My feet are, like, _permanently_ frozen.” 

“Put them here,” said Patrick, sitting up and patting his lap. 

Obediently, David leaned back on the armrest and lifted his legs onto the couch, resting his feet on Patrick’s lap. Patrick took one in both his hands and began to rub.

“Oh, God, that feels good,” moaned David. “Or it would, if I could actually feel my feet.”

“The mom in this movie reminds me of somebody,” Patrick observed as his strong fingers chased down all the sore places in David’s foot and rubbed them into oblivion.

“Hmm, I don’t know.” David squinted at the screen. “Didn’t she come into the store yesterday? Bought out all the rest of the organic fruitcake, I think?” He leaned forward. “She is wearing a _lot_ of makeup.”

“Next year, we’ll be able to afford a courier service,” Patrick mused, gazing off into the distance. After a minute, he shook his head, as if to clear it. “That reminds me, I need to pack up the Christmas gifts to ship to my parents, since they won’t be home for most of December.”

David thought he saw a shadow cross Patrick’s face, but maybe it was just a trick of the light.


	6. Six

This customer was going to crush David’s _last remaining nerve_. 

“What I’m hearing you say,” he began, in what he hoped was a patient tone, “is that you’re sensitive to squalane, linseed oil, soy, citrus, and most fragrances, but you’re looking for an effective moisturizer that also smells nice.”

“That’s right,” the customer replied, “except you forgot that I am also allergic to lard.”

_I’m allergic to you_ , David thought, but he forced his retail smile wider. “May I suggest the sweet almond oil facial serum? It has only three ingredients, and is very effective for--”

“What about this one?” the customer interrupted, reaching behind David and picking up a jar of peptide complex. “This little jar is so cute!”

“That’s--that’s not...You know what, I’m going to just let you look around.” David made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “Let me know if there is anything I can help you with, and I’ll just be right over here.” 

“But--”

“Just let me know!” chirped David as he hastily retreated behind the counter, where Patrick was ringing up a sale.

“I know you’re going to enjoy the tureens,” Patrick told his customer as he handed her a receipt and a bulging Rose Apothecary tote bag. “They’re so good for serving several kinds of soup at once, but they’re also nice for dips and spreads.”

“That’s a good idea. I always make a sausage-cheese hot dip at Christmastime,” she said, “and my sister will bring the spinach-artichoke dip.”

“That sounds delicious,” Patrick said. “My mother makes a terrific sausage dip.”

“Well, I hope she makes extra for you this year,” replied the customer, before she turned to go.

“Not going to happen this year, I guess,” Patrick said softly, giving David one of his upside-down smiles. He laid a hand on David’s cheek. “Watch the register for me for a minute, will you? I need to hit the restroom real quick.”

“Sure,” David said, and he watched Patrick cross the room and disappear into the back. 

Were Patrick’s steps a little slow? Did his shoulders look a little slumped? David wasn’t sure.

“I’ll take these,” said the customer at the counter, plunking three bottles of the plain goat’s milk lotion down on the counter, along with several scented candles. “Can you gift-wrap them? Individually?”

“Of course,” David replied, stretching his face into an approximation of a friendly smile, pulling out sheets of tissue so he could get started on the process of sending this customer on her merry way.


	7. Seven

It had been a big day for David, to put it mildly.

Patrick _loved_ him. He had called David _his Mariah Carey_. 

And David had not only talked Ted off a ledge regarding Alexis, but he had found the courage to tell Patrick that he loved him, too.

He’d also eaten a dog treat, which was a little confusing, but now, lounging on the lumpy couch in the motel lobby while Stevie finished...whatever it was Stevie did on the computer at the motel, which was probably wrapping up her game of Klondike, he felt...good.

He felt _loved_.

 _David Rose is loved_.

“Earth to David. Come in, David,” he heard Stevie say from what seemed like a long way away.

“Mmhm?”

“I have literally been talking to you for the last five minutes,” Stevie said mildly. “Something on your mind, David?”

“...No,” David said, automatically. “What would...should I be thinking of something?”

“Are you thinking about your _lover_ , David?” 

David sprang up from the sofa, grabbed a Corn Festival brochure from the holder on the motel desk, and threw it at her, missing her entirely.

“It’s okay, David. Patrick texted me.”

David ran his finger over the bell on the desk, pushed the inoperable button a few times, then picked the bell up to examine it as though he were going to repair it right then and there. He tried to fold his smile inside his mouth so Stevie couldn’t see it, but he knew she already had. 

He lifted his chin and looked directly into Stevie’s eyes, which were filled with a mixture of love and concern. She made no attempt to hide either.

“He _loves_ me, Stevie. And I love him. I’m in _love_ ,” he said wonderingly.

“You’re going to give me another rash,” Stevie warned him. “But I do have something to say. Two things, actually.”

“Mm.”

“First of all, I’m so happy for you, David.”

“Thank you.” David preened.

“Second of all: Love is a verb.”

“Huh?”

“I think you heard me, and I also think you already know this, but love is a verb, David. It’s an action word. It’s not just something you feel; it’s something you _do_.”

David nodded. “I know. I do know that.”

Stevie pointed a small but still somehow extremely threatening finger at David’s chest.

“Don’t fuck this up,” she told him, sternly.

“I’ll try not to,” David said, honestly. “I’m...really happy, Stevie.”

“I know, David.”

David’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out to look at it. “Patrick’s here. He’s taking me to the Elmdale Inn for dinner tonight.”

“Wow, swanky,” Stevie said.

“Yeah, my parents went there for their anniversary once. I’m gonna go rescue him, he’s alone and defenseless in my room with Alexis and my mom and dad, so I need to get down there before they eat him or something.”

“Best wishes, David,” Stevie said, so insincerely that it wrapped all the way around and became sincere.

“Warmest regards, Stevie,” David whispered, then slipped out the door.


	8. Eight

David’s mind was often full of Patrick, but as the holidays approached, his focus began to sharpen. 

The store was the busiest it had ever been, and Patrick crowed about their record profits and growing customer base. People were literally coming from far and wide to immerse themselves in the branded experience that was Rose Apothecary; carloads of shoppers from as far away as Elm Valley regularly filled up the parking lot at Bob’s Garage, and there was that one time an actual chartered bus from Thornbridge discharged upwards of fifty passengers right outside the front door. Patrick had been at the cafe at the time, picking up their lunch, and David thought he was going to have an embolism when the horde of smiling, parka-clad customers breached the glass doors of the Apothecary and streamed into all corners of the store, loud and raucous and merry, trying on the hand-spun alpaca sweaters, sniffing the candles, and buying up the cinnamon sticks. It was the strangest, most exhilarating feeling, moving through the crowd, offering advice, upselling, and scurrying to rearrange and restock his displays as the customers decimated them. If David were being honest, he almost didn’t mind the chaos.

The store was a rousing success by anyone’s measure, as was their business partnership, and even David could see that their romantic relationship was a rousing success, too. They’d fallen in love, which was great all by itself, and the sex was _astonishing_ , but more than that, they’d developed an easy familiarity and comfort with one another that David had only read about in novels. 

He’d never felt so cared for, or so secure; even their brief stumble over Patrick’s secret fiancee had led to a deeper honesty within their relationship that David had never before experienced. Between his boyfriend, his best friend, his flourishing store, and his family, David’s heart was full.


	9. Nine

The late November evening was clear and cold, but not too cold, and the stars sparkled like a sequined scarf across the darkened sky as David and Patrick left the Apothecary. 

David pulled on the door handle to double-check that he’d locked it, then came down the steps to tuck his arm into Patrick’s.

Patrick squeezed David’s arm. “Want to walk over and look at the tree over at Town Hall before dinner? Ray said they got it decorated this afternoon, so it should be all lit up by now.”

“As long as I can be staring down a cheeseburger and fries by seven, yes, I would like that very much.”

Arm in arm, they walked the short distance to Town Hall, their breath coming in swirling white clouds, their boots crunching on the light snow that had fallen during the day.

The tree was, indeed, all lit up, and Roland was just descending the Town Hall steps with Jocelyn as David and Patrick approached.

“Hey Dave, Pat,” Roland called, waving. “Tree looks good, huh?”

“Mmhmm,” David replied. 

“Just don’t try to get behind it,” Jocelyn warned them cheerfully. “ _Lot_ of wires back there.”

“And we only have one fire extinguisher,” added Roland as he opened the door to his truck. “We had two, but we used one up today on the wires.”

“Okay. Thank you.” David took a few steps back, pulling Patrick with him.

“Good night, boys,” Jocelyn said, climbing into the passenger seat of the truck. 

Patrick was gazing at the tree with a soft expression. 

“Looks nice,” David said. 

Patrick seemed to startle. “Oh,” he said, “yeah, it does. We had a tree about this size every year in the town square where I grew up. It had an angel on top, instead of a star, but it looked a lot like this one. My dad used to help put it up, until he threw out his back that one time.” He gave his head a little shake, then smiled at David. “I believe I promised you a cheeseburger?”

“You did,” David replied. “And you might have said something about a milkshake?”

“I don’t remember saying that,” Patrick said.

“Oh, maybe it was me saying it. Nevertheless, I think we can both agree that milkshakes have been discussed.”

Patrick laughed. “Come on. Let’s get you some dinner.”


	10. Ten

Alexis would be at Ted’s tonight, so David would have the room to himself, and he intended to make the most of it. 

After dinner, Patrick had invited David to stay the night with him in his room at Ray’s, but David had begged off, citing a pressing need to work on one of his mood boards. This was not untrue, but David didn’t mention that the mood board wasn’t for the store. Or that it wasn’t _exactly_ a mood board. 

Patrick had driven him back to the motel and kissed him fondly, and David missed him already, but he was a man on a mission, and he couldn’t lose focus now. 

“Love is a verb,” Stevie had said, and David knew that now, knew it in his bones. His family loved him; Stevie loved him, and Patrick loved him, and David knew it because their actions said so. 

If Patrick couldn’t see his family in Elk Lake for Christmas this year, David would make sure that Patrick felt loved, right where he was, here in Schitt’s Creek. 

_Love is a verb_ , David thought, and he sat at the little table in the room he shared with Alexis, cutting and pasting and embellishing, late into the night.


	11. Eleven

December first was a Friday, and David always spent the night at Ray’s with Patrick on Fridays. Sometimes they had dinner with Ray; sometimes they got takeout and brought it up to Patrick’s room, which often resulted in Ray coming in to perch on the edge of the bed and chatter excitedly about closet organization until they offered him some of their takeout, and sometimes, like tonight, Ray was not home. 

Ray was in Elm Glen at a photography workshop. Ray would be gone for the _whole weekend_. David shivered with delight as he bounded up the steps to Ray’s front door, bottle of wine in one hand and his overnight bag along with a small shopping bag in the other.

As always, the door was unlocked for David to let himself in. Dropping his bag near the staircase, he headed for the kitchen, where he found Patrick pulling a foil pan of lasagne out of the oven. Ray’s table was set for two, with a pair of unscented taper candles in ceramic holders burning in the center. Patrick had remembered that scented candles at the dinner table are incorrect, and David was pleased.

“Hi,” David said, kissing him. “What’s all this? It smells delicious.”

“Just wanted to do something nice for my boyfriend,” Patrick said, nuzzling David’s neck. 

“You pulled out all the stops,” David observed.

“Most of the stops,” Patrick admitted. “Unfortunately, the garlic bread didn’t make it through.” He gestured ruefully to a pile of charred bread. “Apparently, when the package says ‘five minutes’, it really means _five minutes_.”

“Well, it looks wonderful,” David assured him. He set the bottle of wine on the counter and began to rummage in the drawer for the corkscrew. “And before you ask, yes, I paid for this.”

Patrick put his hands up. “I wasn’t going to ask.”

David got the wine open and poured them each a glass. Handing one to Patrick, he clinked their glasses together. “Cheers to inexplicably-lengthy photography workshops.”

“I’ll definitely drink to that,” Patrick murmured, his gaze fastened on David’s lips, and they drank together.


	12. Twelve

Lasagne eaten, half the bottle of wine drunk, and the dishes washed, David and Patrick retired to the sofa in Ray’s living room. 

Picking up the remote from the coffee table, Patrick turned to David. “What would you like to watch tonight?”

“Actually,” said David, “I have something for you.”

“Do you,” murmured Patrick, moving in to kiss him.

David allowed himself to be kissed, then pulled back. “It’s not...I mean, _yes_ , that, obviously, but it’s...Just stay here and I’ll be right back.” He hopped up to retrieve his shopping bag from where he’d left it.

“What is this?” 

“Here.” David handed him the shopping bag. “I hope it’s at least comparable to the ones your mother used to get for you.”

Patrick opened the bag and pulled out a sheet of heavy kraft paper cardstock that had been cut into the shape of a Christmas tree. It was decorated with a swoop of black to indicate garland, and into it had been incised twenty-four little doors, each numbered in David’s lovely handwriting.

“Oh, my god, David,” Patrick said, smiling his upside-down smile, and his eyes were so, so fond. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Mmhmm.” David nodded vigorously. “I made you an Advent calendar. I thought since you were missing your family so much this year, I could try to make it feel a little bit more like home, here, with me. Hopefully it won’t be as sad if...is everything okay? Why are you shaking your head?”

Patrick was, in fact, shaking his head, and smiling, and were those tears in his eyes? 

“David,” he said softly, “This is beautiful. Thank you. And I’m not sad. Not at all. You have no idea how happy I am to be spending Christmas here with you.” He lifted his hand to David’s cheek. “No idea, David. How are you even real,” he said with something like wonder in his voice, and he leaned in to brush his lips across David’s before sitting back to look again at the Advent calendar in his lap. “It’s beautiful,” he said again.

This was not at all the response David was expecting. Dimly, he realized that his mouth was open, and he closed it before any words could fall out of it, just in case.

“David, I waited my whole life to find someone I wanted to spend Christmas with,” Patrick continued. “Christmas with my family is great, don’t get me wrong, but when I’m with you, everything is so much better. I don’t even, I can’t even put into words how much you…” He trailed off, still stroking David’s cheek.

“I thought you were upset,” David whispered. “I thought you were missing your family, and that’s why you’ve seemed kind of...melancholy lately.”

“Melancholy? I don’t…”

“You get that faraway look in your eyes,” David went on. “You got all nostalgic when we were looking at the Christmas tree the other day. And then you were talking to that customer about sausage dip.”

“Sausage dip?”

“The other day, some customer was talking about sausage dip and you mentioned you wouldn’t have your mom’s sausage dip this year. You got all sad-eyed.”

Patrick was nodding now, as though something had come together in his mind.

“David, I think I know what’s going on here, and I have something to tell you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you this for weeks now, and I guess I just...I just need to say it, and hope you’re not too upset.”

“Oh,” David said, and a thrill of panic raced through his chest and down his arms to his wrists. 

“I just…” Patrick sighed, folded his hands in his lap, and looked at the floor. “I just can’t figure out how we’re going to be able to afford that espresso machine this year. I can’t make it work, David. I’m sorry.”

David’s mouth dropped open again. “What?” he finally managed.

“The espresso machine, I can’t--”

“No, I know, I _heard_ you,” David said. “ _That’s_ what you’re all moody about? Patrick. I don’t need an espresso machine. I mean, obviously I’d _like_ one, eventually, but I don’t...you don’t need to tie yourself in _knots_ trying to fulfill my every wish.”

Patrick looked up at him then, and the upside-down smile returned.

“ _You_ are enough,” David said firmly. “You’re better than anything. You’re…” He dropped his chin, shyly. “You’re the best,” he finished.

Patrick was gazing at David with so much love in his eyes, it was like looking directly into the sun.

“Now, if I’m not mistaken,” David said gently, “it’s December first. Don’t you want to open your first, um, door?”

Patrick laughed. “I can’t wait,” he said, and he carefully opened the door labeled 1 to reveal the word MASSAGE.

David shimmied his shoulders. 

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” Patrick said, “but I’m obviously not going to turn down a massage.”

“Race you up the stairs?” David challenged, and they bolted off the couch and ran up the steps to Patrick’s room together.

**Author's Note:**

> There is a part two to this, and Patrick will open all the doors and David will execute all the surprises, but that will come later. For now, enjoy this and I hope you have a happy and safe holiday.


End file.
